Winchester in Wonderland
by Rage-Dayie-Watson
Summary: (This is a filler in season 5, episode 4: "The End") After Sam decides to quit hunting, Dean is forced to find his own way to kill the Devil. But he can't do that without sleep. So, Dean stops for the night to relax, but he'll do no such thing. After chasing a white figure, he finds himself falling very quickly down a hole... but he soon learns it's more than just a hole...


**_A 'continuation' of S5 E4: "The End"_**

WINCHESTER IN WONDERLAND

Chapter One – Playboy Bunny

Dean sighed as he felt the heaviness of his eyelids begin to win against his stubborn struggle to stay awake. He needed sleep. Sure, he was used to going days without, but his human needs still won out, occasionally.

It didn't take him long to find a suitable hotel to sleep for the night. It was cheap, and it suited all of his needs. Even this late at night, the street was moderately busy.

He pulled the Impala up curbside, parking it and grabbing his back out of the passenger seat.

The passenger seat, which was the seat that Sammy would normally be in. But Sam wanted out. He didn't want to hunt anymore. He'd left Dean on his own.

Dean shook away his thoughts, knowing that he couldn't do much about it, anyways. Besides, he needed sleep. He couldn't be riling himself up.

He grabbed the keys and got out of the car, locking it, saying a silent 'good night' to his baby.

He caught the end of a conversation as he shut the door.

"Okay, God bless."

The words came from a man, maybe six feet tall. It was difficult to see him in the dark, but all Dean could tell was that he was wearing a suit, he had dark hair, and he was holding something.

 _Great, a friggin' God enthusiast. Just what I need right now._ Dean grumbled quietly as he approached the hotel. And, of course, the guy spotted him and started following him.

"Excuse me, friend, but have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?"

Oh, the irony. The question was irritating. He was far too tired for this bullshit.

Dean glanced behind him, stopping in his tracks, turning just slightly. His eyes landed on the pamphlet the man was holding, which read "God is Love". He scoffed internally and gave the man his answer in a tired, somewhat exasperated tone, "Too friggin' much, Pal."

Dean turned away, heading inside of the hotel. He paid for a room at the front desk, too tired to flirt with the moderately attractive woman that was helping him out.

He thanked her, then trudged onwards to room one-thirteen, practically dragging his bag behind him. He unlocked the door, walked in, then closed and locked the door behind him, tossing the key and his phone onto the nightstand that was only a foot or so away. He set his bag down in the small closet, not bothering to get into it just yet, and he took his jacket off, tossing it on the bed, damn near missing. It barely clung to the corner of the bed. He was too tired to hang it up.

Wanting nothing more than a bit of relaxation time before sleep overtook him, Dean went over to the fridge in the 'kitchen' portion of the room. But, before he could even open it, he heard his phone buzz.

This late at night, it had to be important. Plus, this was his personal number. Not many people had it.

With a sigh, he abandoned his mission and went to the other side of the bed, picking up the phone. "This is Dean."

On the other end of the line, Dean recognized Castiel's voice. Why the hell was he- oh, right. He was hidden from Cas, so he couldn't just pop up since Cas didn't know where he was.

"Dean, I believe the demons still have the gun."

Dean walked over to the curtains, closing them out of habit as he replied, "We're talkin' about the Colt, right? I mean, as in _the_ Colt?" There's no way in hell the demons would keep that gun around. It was the only thing that could kill them, so keeping it didn't make any sense.

"We are."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense. Why would the demons keep a gun around that – uh – kills demons?" Near the end of Dean's reply, the other end suddenly got incredibly loud. Cas must have been next to a road or something.

Cas raised his voice, as he'd been unable to hear Dean over the noise. "What?! What – did – I didn't… I didn't get that…"

Dean had returned to his mission, stopping just short, leaning against the counter, letting out a small, tired chuckle. Oh, this would be so much easier if they didn't have to talk via cell phone. "You know, it's kind of funny: talking to a messenger of God on a cell phone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's Angel ride a mo-ped." He didn't expect Castiel to understand, but it was still funny, nonetheless. He had to make himself laugh, too.

"This isn't funny, Dean!" Castiel sounded annoyed, and then he sounded distressed. "The voice says I'm almost out of minutes!"

Sensing Castiel was in no mood for any of his shenanigans, he dropped it. "Okay, all right. Look, I-I'm-I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted the gun down by now."

"Well, I hear differently," Cas argued. "And if it's true, and if you are still set on the _insane_ task of killing the Devil, this is how we do it."

Dean slowly moved over to the bed as he listened to Cas, sitting down. "Okay, where do we start?"

"Where are you now?" Castiel inquired, waiting for an answer somewhat impatiently.

Dean glanced over his shoulder as he replied, "Kansas City…" So tired, he'd forgotten his room number. He leaned over the bed to look at the key on the nightstand with a grunt, then continued, "Century Hotel, room one-thirteen."

"I'll be there immediately."

No, he did not want to deal with this right now. Killing the Devil could wait until the morning. It was a miracle that he was even still awake. "Woah, woah, woah, woah, no, no, come on, man," Dean quickly protested, internally groaning as he exasperatedly explained the situation to Cas, "I just drove like sixteen hours straight, okay?" He paused for a moment. He felt the need to remind Castiel, "I'm human. There's stuff I gotta do."

"What stuff?" Once again, Cas sounded annoyed.

"Eat, for example – in this case, sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?" Dean also needed food, but he could wait for that. He wouldn't starve overnight.

"Yes."

A good enough response to continue, even if it constituted internal eye-rolling. "Okay, so you can pop in tomorrow morning," he declared.

Castiel gave him the same confirmation as before, "Yes."

 _Good enough._ He hung up, throwing the phone back onto the nightstand, deciding to return to his mission of retrieving some alcohol – preferably beer. Or… trying to. For some reason, he couldn't move. He struggled to do so.

Panicked, his eyes darted around the room. Something was holding him there.

Whatever it was disappeared as soon as it came, a tremendous weight seeming to come off of Dean's chest.

He quickly got up, still mildly panicked, looking around wildly.

His eyes caught a glimpse of something white just outside his door, which was cracked open. He swore – no, he _knew_ he'd locked it. And, whatever that white thing was, it was moving fast. And it was probably responsible for whatever had just happened.

"Hey!" He called out, quickly racing out of the room after the figure. It was instinct for him to reach around his back for his gun, but he didn't find it there. It was too late to go back. Whatever this thing was, he'd have to hope it wasn't able to overpower him.

Dean caught only a glimpse, yet again, of the white figure opening the hotel's main door and rushing out, turning left.

As Dean chased after it, he took note of the missing receptionist. He'd only seen her ten minutes prior. Maybe it had killed her. He'd investigate later, but, for now, he didn't have time to find out.

Exiting the building, the man that had stopped him earlier was gone, too, as were all of the people that had been wandering the streets or driving past. It was all a little surreal. He seemed to be alone in the world with this thing, all of a sudden, and the thought was a little unsettling.

Yeah, this was really weird, but he knew he couldn't stop for anything. Not now.

Again, he only caught a glimpse of a white tailcoat turning into an alleyway, and, again, Dean followed.

He approached the alleyway a little slowly once he got close, pressing himself up against the wall, sure that there was danger waiting for him inside. He was sure that alleyway was a dead-end. It had to be. There was a building blocking off the other side, so, if this thing made a run for it, it would run right into Dean. Both a good thing and a bad thing, depending on how one perceived it. For Dean, however, it was a good thing. Having it cornered would give him time to think.

His slow steps came to a halt before he took a deep breath and turned into the alleyways, only to become immediately dumbfounded at what – who he saw. "… S… Sammy?" With white Playboy bunny ears? In a white suit? What… what the hell?

Dean rubbed his eyes, sure he was just seeing things, but the ears remained.

"Sam, I thought… I thought you left. I thought you didn't want to… to hunt anymore…" Dean stuttered out, confused, trying to ignore the whole… bunny ears, thing.

He received no response, except one of the ears twitched. **One of the ears** ** _twitched_** **.** _Holy shit, they're real!_ Dean took a step back just slightly, confused and a bit startled. "Uh-! S-Sammy, i-in case you, uh… you didn't notice… you got a li'l somethin' right-"

Mid-sentence, Sam turned around and disappeared into the darkness of the alleyway. Hell, he literally disappeared. It was pitch-black. He'd never seen so much darkness. And Dean was a little hesitant to follow.

That wasn't creepy or anything. Or annoying. "Or, just, I don't know… walk away while I'm in the middle of friggin' saying something…"

Dean grumbled, recalling the fact that he still needed sleep, and letting a self-pitying thought come to light. "Why am I never allowed to sleep?"

He sighed, pushing his thoughts and uneasiness behind him as he took a cautious step forward, and then another and another. The area around him was engulfed in blackness as he continued onward. How long was this damn thing? He'd walked for over a minute before stopping with an annoyed sigh. Only annoyed, really, because he was confused, and he hated it.

He glanced behind him, tempted to return to the bed that had been calling him for a long while now, but he saw nothing. There was no sidewalk or street… only darkness. Great. Nothing to return to. Had the receptionist slipped him something, somehow? Because, right now, all he could think was that he must be tripping balls.

He turned back around, deciding to continue in the direction he'd already committed to, but he suddenly didn't feel the ground beneath his foot, and he stumbled forward. Instinctively, he reached out his hands to catch himself, figuring it was just a pothole of some sort, or the ground was uneven, but his hands met no surface. There was nothing beneath him.

He could feel the wind rushing around him, and a sickening feeling in his stomach arose. The kind of sickness he got whenever he got on a plane.

Gravity seemed to be taking over, and Dean quickly realized he was falling. He was falling nowhere very fast. And he fell and fell, for minutes and minutes, his voice becoming raw after a bit of panicked screaming. He tried to reach out. To catch anything. He tried to pray to Castiel to come catch him – to come save him, but no such thing happened.

The only way to really describe how his fall concluded was to say that everything went black… but everything was already black before, now wasn't it? Yes, but things were different now. The Winchester was rendered unconscious… but, at least, he had ground beneath him.

 _To be continued_


End file.
